Sweet as the Devil (9 page)

“In that case, we’re going to need more men to cover both you and Miss Eastleigh. It’s only a matter of time before Von Welden picks up your scent.”

“I’m afraid the principessa has stolen a march on Von Welden.” Ernst lifted one shoulder in an expression of futility. “I’d forgotten that her lady-in-waiting is related to my secretary’s wife. Antonella cabled this morning. I’m to meet her at the station tomorrow.”

“I see.” As a rule Ernst didn’t respond to orders from his lovers.

“No, you don’t,” the prince observed, mindful of Jamie’s insinuation. “It’s nothing out of the ordinary. Antonella’s simply more audacious than most.”

Jamie dipped his head. “A charming quality in a woman.” “Indeed. Now how soon before the additional troopers arrive?”

“Two days.”

“Then you must personally guard my daughter. She’s in the most danger.”

“Douglas is fully capable of protecting her.” He preferred keeping his distance. Miss Eastleigh was forbidden fruit.

“I disagree.” The prince’s voice took on an edge. “Need I remind you of your promise to your father?”

Jamie drew in a small breath, exhaled, and reluctantly said, “No, you need not.” The eldest male in Jamie’s family had personally guarded the Princes of Battenberg for over a century.

Ernst smiled. “I knew I could count on you. Now you may stop scowling at me. I’m sure my daughter won’t give you any trouble.”

If I were a eunuch.
“I’ll do my best, sir,” he said with more hope than certainty. Sofia Eastleigh was not only beautiful but also a flirt.

Ernst looked up as a servant entered the room. “Thank you, Sims. None for me.”

The men waited while a tray was set down beside Jamie and the servant withdrew.

The prince leaned forward and patted Jamie’s knee. “Come, my boy, no sulks. Humor me. My daughter’s safety is of vital importance as you and I both know. I depend on you completely.”

Jamie offered the prince a well-bred smile. “As you wish, sir.” Chafing under his new orders, he picked up the cup of coffee that had been poured for him, drank it down, set the cup aside, and came to his feet. “I’ll talk to the men and see that everyone understands the situation. How much do you want me to tell them?”

“Tell them that I’ve discovered my long-lost daughter and she’ll require sufficient protection to guard her against those who murdered Rupert. As to the details, I’ll leave them up to you. I intend to acknowledge her before the world as soon as possible and hopefully forestall Von Welden.”

“A temporary deterrent at best,” Jamie warned.

“I understand. If she agrees, I’d like to spirit her away to safety until we can deal with Von Welden.”

“If
she agrees.”

The prince smiled. “I’m sure you can convince her.” “Jesus, Ernst, unlike you, I don’t believe in miracles.”

“Nevertheless, I have complete faith in you.”

“Wildly misplaced,” Jamie grumbled.

“My dear boy, every female in Vienna has thrown herself at your feet. And my understanding is that you’ve not turned any of them away.” Ernst grinned. “I envy your stamina.”

“This is different.”

“I can’t see how.”

“She’s your daughter.”

“Didn’t you say she was a woman of independence. Why don’t we let her decide?”

“No, Ernst. You ask too much.”

“To want my daughter safe?” Ernst blandly remarked. “I don’t understand where moral scruples come into play when it’s a matter of practicality. But I see you have your hackles up.” His smile was benign. “I’ll allow you your principles.”

“Thank you,” Jamie gruffly said, not sure what repulsed him more: Ernst’s venal worldliness or his unbridled selfishness.

The prince softly laughed. “Off with you, my pious young man. When I have news of my daughter, I’ll send for you.”

Prince Ernst had not lived a licentious life for so long without having discovered that human frailty was most vulnerable when passion, desire, and willfulness coalesced. His handsome young ADC attracted women like the moon the tides, while his daughter apparently was predisposed to willfulness.

What better collaboration to insure her safety?

 

 

U
NAWARE OF THE momentous events in the offing, Sofia spent another day in the country, finishing a landscape she’d begun the previous day. Engrossed in her work, she lost track of time, and only when the afternoon sun began to cool did she recall her dinner appointment at Rosalind’s.

“Jessie! We have to go!” she shouted to the young boy who fetched and carried for her and drove her little cart. “I’m late, late, late!”

An hour later, Jessie dropped her off at her cottage in Chelsea and drove around to her studio in back to dispose of the canvas and painting supplies.

As Sofia approached her front door, a strange man appeared from around the cascade of pink roses climbing up her porch trellis.

“Miss Eastleigh?”

“Who are you?” Her voice was sharp. Men appeared on her doorstep with some frequency, none of whom she welcomed.

“I have a message from Prince Ernst of Dalmia. He would like to meet with you immediately.” The man held out an official-looking envelope with seals.

“You must be mistaken.” She ignored his outstretched hand. “I don’t know any Prince Ernst. Now, if you’ll excuse me, I’m late for a dinner,” she crisply added, brushing past him. Opening her door, she slipped inside and slammed the door behind her.

What a bizarre approach, she reflected with a snort of disgust, quickly making her way to her bedroom. Even assuming this prince—or not—was attempting to court some woman, she rather doubted he’d have much success with such a crude proposal. Delivered by a retainer no less.

Really, there was no accounting for the arrogance of the nobility.

As if one had merely to reveal one’s title—even a possibly fraudulent one—and a woman’s acquiescence was assured. Insolent pricks.

Which frame of mind didn’t bode well for the evening ahead. Lord Wharton was wealthy, titled, and feted far and wide for his athletic fame. She really wasn’t in the mood for an aristocratic blue blood with the world at his feet. She should have remained firm in her refusals. Damn Rosalind’s incessant harping.

Now, if only she could survive the evening without being rude.

A low bar, perhaps, but in her current temper not easily met.

Perhaps with enough champagne, she reflected, her mood might improve. Or more to the point, with enough champagne, she might become oblivious to her mood.

Swiftly undressing, she dropped her work clothes on the carpet. Pulling her Worth gown from the wardrobe, she laid it on the bed and shouted for the young maid of all work who helped her out on occasion. Knowing she’d need assistance with all the impossibly small hooks running down the back of her gown, she’d had the foresight to schedule Cassie. “Ah, there you are, darling. I need help with this gown, and if you could find my green silk shoes, I’d be grateful. They’re not in the wardrobe.”

“I seen them under the sofa in the parlor, miss.”

“Really?”

“You brung that lovely bloke home from the theater last Thursday, miss. I recall cuz me mum helped me dress you that night. The shoes got left behind, I figure, when—”

“Be a dear and fetch them for me, will you?” Sofia interposed, preferring not to hear Cassie’s suppositions apropos her behavior that night. Although Billy Orme was very sweet and gratifying in any number of ways. He’d stayed to entertain her for two full days—a testament to his talents beyond that of a championship jockey.

J
AMIE HAD SPENT a portion of the day with his troop, explaining their mission and arranging watch schedules before returning to his apartment in St. John’s Wood. As eight o’clock approached and no summons from Ernst materialized, he decided that Miss Eastleigh must not have surfaced yet. The fact that she couldn’t be found generated a mild apprehension until he reminded himself that Von Welden and his minions couldn’t possibly be that competent.

Nonetheless, when a messenger from the prince arrived a short time later, he read the brief note with a sense of relief.

Ernst’s army of detectives had tracked down their quarry. A half hour later, Jamie was ushered into the Battenberg town house by a harried butler. “Upstairs, sir. He’s been asking for you.” Directed to the prince’s dressing room, Jamie found Ernst in a stew over what decorations to wear on his admiral’s uniform.

“I can’t decide. What do you think?” The prince waved his hand at a colorful array of various orders and decorations on his dressing table.

“If you’re out to impress, the Order of the Golden Fleece will suffice.” The medal was the oldest, most prestigious honor the Habsburg Empire bestowed, the recipients either from the royal families of Europe or from the ranks of exceptional military heroes.

“You’re right. Less is more. It must be your Scots’ blood.”

“If we’re discussing moderation, I’d dispense with a uniform. English society is more relaxed than the Austrian court. Military dress isn’t de rigueur here. That much gold braid might frighten off your daughter.”
Or offend her.
Jamie suspected the forthright Miss Eastleigh disliked martinets decked out in showy regimentals.

“Excellent suggestion. We’ll restrict our accompanying guard as well. You’re armed?”

Jamie nodded, his shoulder holster well concealed by his tailor, the dirk strapped to his ankle invisible as well.

The prince snapped his fingers at his valet. “Off with this uniform,” he briskly ordered, and swearing all the while, he was quickly refitted into evening dress.

“Very nice,” Jamie said with quiet amusement as the flurry of activity abated. “Now you owe Peters an apology.”

The prince glared at Jamie. “I don’t know why I put up with you.”

Jamie smiled. “Because I keep you safe and tell you the truth when no one else dares.”

“Hmpf. Impertinent brat.” He turned to Peters and muttered, “Have Julius give you a raise.”

“Very good, sir.” No gentleman of consequence would do without an English valet and Peters knew it. “Have a pleasant evening, sir.”

Ernst stalked away through the dressing room door, and Jamie winked at Peters as he rose from his chair. “He’s lucky to have you.”

“Thank you, sir. We do our best.”

Which term would perhaps be useful as a catchphrase tonight, Jamie decided as he and Ernst entered the carriage waiting at the curb. Having met Miss Eastleigh, he rather doubted that she’d entirely welcome the news that she was heir to a duchy in Dalmia.

Her sardonic remarks about aristocratic ladies like Bella and the men who obliged them suggested a jaundiced view of the beau monde. Not that he necessarily disagreed with her assessment, but then his opinions were of no consequence tonight.

On the other hand, he sympathized with Ernst’s joy in having saved his patrimony. After the loss of his only son to Von Welden’s inhumanity and greed, Ernst had found reason to hope.

Ernst, however, was a dyed-in-the-wool autocrat, force majeure the norm for him.

Jamie softly sighed. This encounter between father and daughter could be confrontational. God knows what Miss Eastleigh had been told in the last twenty-some years. Or what Machiavellian coercion Ernst would employ.

Fortunately, he hadn’t bet on the outcome.

A
FTER REACHING GROVELAND House and posting two troopers on guard outside, Ernst and Jamie were ushered in.

“Tell Groveland Prince Ernst is here,” Ernst brusquely ordered, handing his hat and gloves to the butler who had come up to greet them. “Quickly, my good man!”

“His Grace has guests, Your Excellency,” Mallory replied with cultivated sangfroid, smoothly disposing of the hat and gloves to a flunkey. “If you would care to wait in the green drawing room, I will inform His Grace of your presence.” This was England. Not some foreign fiefdom.